


Dance Dance

by lunacosas



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Strictly Come Dancing Fusion, Ballroom Dancing, Bisexual Disaster Jaskier | Dandelion, Dancer Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Dancing, M/M, Musician Jaskier | Dandelion, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27659548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunacosas/pseuds/lunacosas
Summary: Jaskier participates in a dance competition, where he is paired with the (criminally attractive) professional dancer Geralt. With glitter, sparkles, sequins and the hottest partner on the show, what's not to love!? Well, him, apparently... But that's okay! He can get on with anyone, and he's sure Geralt will warm to him eventually.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 17
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And now for something completely different...
> 
> I'm not convinced by the quality of this one, but it's an indulgent hyperfixation so who cares. A massive thank you to Kali for cheer reading and helping with the summary, and just generally having the astonishing constitution required to survive the insanity that has been my planning phase.

He won’t say it’s a sign that his career is on the down (it’s not, it’s more along the lines of… enjoying a brief interlude), but the invitation to be part of the dance show is definitely unexpected. Wonderful, even. Not that he won’t admit it, but Jaskier has a weak spot for over the top entertainment. The prospect of taking part in a show defined by glitter and extravagant costumes is no hardship – a joy, even. The part he’s marginally less sure about is the dancing aspect, which is slightly key in this show, yes, but Jaskier is a _musician_. He’s got all the rhythm anyone could ever ask for. He can dance to anything. He’ll get away with it. It’s going to be a blast. All he has to do now is keep the whole thing a secret, which, in the run-up to the show, is the worst thing ever. His fingers itch any time he’s near social media. His tongue fizzes with the need to blurt it out during conversations. How he manages not to tell anyone he honestly doesn’t know. He deserves some sort of award for that monumental feat alone.

And then the first part of waiting is over. He’s announced as a contestant, and the flurry of interest is really rather nice. He could do with fewer 'oh that twat?' comments, but the 'omg ur my fave i hav *such* a crush on u!' reactions are very welcome. A lot of people apparently can’t wait to see him in action. He can’t wait either. Just another few weeks… 

He thinks nothing of the call when he gets it. Well, he worries they’ve changed their mind less than two days after revealing he’ll be on the show, but the fear is unfounded. They merely phone to ask him if he has any preference regarding his partner. They’re thinking of mixing it up a bit this year, they tell him. He doesn’t much care as long as he gets to have fun. He names the three dancers he’d give his right hand to have (not really, he needs that) ( _for professional purposes_ ), perhaps gushing a little too much about how amazing all three women are, but he’s talking to the show runners here so it’s okay, no one is recording him or anything like that. They no doubt appreciate his enthusiasm.

It’s only after the call that the penny drops. Jaskier chokes a little, fumbling as he phones them back. _Wait_ , he begs, _were you asking who I want to be partnered with, or if I’d be okay with a male professional?_ It turns out they’re asking the latter. Jaskier doesn’t know if he wants to bounce off the ceiling or collapse on the floor. He has a vague recollection of enthusiastically agreeing, and hopefully hanging up before he falls face first into the sofa, laughing into its numerous cushions. He might be partnered with a _male_ professional.

He really, really hopes it happens.

~

There’s an almost interminable wait until the launch show. Not that he’s counting the days or anything, but Jaskier has each little milestone leading up to the big event circled on his calendar (and if he bought a physical copy just to do that… well, who wouldn’t?). There are one or two interviews coming up, and there’ll no doubt be more of them in the next few weeks, but his first real, slightly surreal, appointment is with the costume department on the day of the promo video and shoot.

Honestly, he never knew there were so many measurements that could be taken. From top to bottom, his inseam to his outseam, he’s catalogued and detailed with alarming precision. They even take note of his skin tone, although he can’t quite decipher why, and is too busy asking the tailor how they make sure pants don’t split to question anything else that’s going on. It probably doesn’t matter.

It’s when he’s sitting in makeup that he wavers. His hair has been left much as it usually is, and all the makeup artist is doing is adding a few touches to even out his complexion beneath the studio lights. He catches a glimpse of himself, and can’t look away. He’s been given dress pants and a soft blue shirt to wear, its sleeves rolled up to make the outfit seem casual, but even so he’s struck by how remarkably plain he really is. He doesn’t feel understated, he feels underwhelming. Sure, he’s good at what he does, he’s a talented musician, but as he looks at himself he can’t see anything else worth remarking upon. Perhaps this was a mistake.

He only realises he’s worrying his lip when the makeup artist, bless her, notices. She taps him on the nose with the end of her brush and teases him, telling him he’s only supposed to get nervous before the show itself. In a worryingly uncharacteristic moment of true doubt, Jaskier looks to her and asks her if this is really happening.

Her kind smile is all he really needs, but she reinforces it with words anyway: Yes, it’s happening, go out there and have a blast.

He’s glad she was the only witness to his momentary lapse. He holds still as she finishes the job, pulling himself back together again and trying to forget his embarrassment. He’s good at shows. He’s good at parties, and playing the part. This is going to be _amazing_. He’s going to be incredible. The nation won’t know what hit them.

Or so he tries to tell himself as he’s ushered towards the waiting set by an animated but determined woman with the kind of energy Jaskier admires. She somehow manages to put him at ease with her distracting chatter while still adhering to the military precision showrunners fantasise about, and in the midst of it all he even finds an iced tea pushed into his hands.

Impressive.

He sips at it while listening to the director running over the segment, what’s needed from him, where to start and finish, where he’ll sit as he talks. The set itself is awash with glitter, disco balls, and anything else that will sparkle, and as he surrenders his tea and makes himself at home in front of the camera he relaxes into it.

It’s easy after that. He twirls from one mark to the next (he’s seen ballet, he knows what he’s doing), and can’t help laughing, more delighted than he wants to admit as gold confetti rains down. This is happening. It’s really happening. Fuck.

There are props to mess around with: scoring paddles (he’ll take the 10, thank you very much, the floor somewhere behind him can have the 3), disco balls, and part way through he’s given a jacket to admire that’s more sequins than fabric. He dutifully messes around, because what’s not to love about every second of it? They take the jacket off of him, which is a bitter disappointment because it really is so violently fetching, and then he’s left to answer the questions, reading them out himself as if pondering what he’s just been asked.

There’s one that sticks with him once they declare his shoot a wrap. He’s whisked back to the costume department, not sure how to contain his excitement as it really dawns on him that taking part in the show is everyone’s dream, but he is lucky enough to get a chance to live it.

The suit he’s fitted with for his promo shoot is utterly fabulous, with deep emerald green and cobalt blue shimmering in the lapels, and the smartest waistcoat known to man mirroring the colours with specular, subtle depth – someone later points out that it’s a little reminiscent of a peacock, but fuck, if it isn’t gorgeous. With his hair carefully styled in soft waves and a grin plastered on his face as he poses beneath the bright lights, Jaskier looks every bit the part in the resulting photo (and his eyelashes are his own, thank you very much). The promo shot is hands down his favourite photo of himself. When he appears at his next interview on a prime time chat show, they have the photo up on their oversized screens. It sinks in just that little bit more that this is really happening, and Jaskier glances as the stunning photo, thinking about the next event in his calendar and finding himself barely able to wait.

-

The rest of his schedule has all but disappeared. For the foreseeable future, his world truly revolves around this show. Jaskier packs an overnight bag and, quite simply because the impulse grips him, a banjo, and tries to wait patiently as the car collects him and drives him through the city. After an hour or so, concrete gives way to countryside, grey to green, and he loses himself in a daydream of what the next day and a half might be like. The location is still another hour away, he thinks, but half an hour later he’s proved wrong, and the castle the broadcaster has hired for the training session comes into view. It’s a lot better maintained than the ruined examples Jaskier clambered all over as a child – hell, it looks _lived in_ , which is probably just as well given that it’s about to play host to fifteen celebrities, fifteen professional dancers, and a good portion of crew.

He’s shown in, and shown to his room where he has a chance to freshen up before being ushered back downstairs again. It’s the first opportunity he’s had to meet the other celebrities and, after a cursory once-over by the wardrobe department to remove a wisp of lint from his t-shirt, Jaskier can throw himself whole-heartedly into meeting everyone. You can’t go far wrong in a crowd of people who have all signed up to take part in the same experience, even if Jaskier isn’t entirely convinced that politicians are real human people. Still, he shakes the ex-politician’s hand, and immediately warms to her when she confesses to dancing around her office to his best known hit. His reach is universal.

All too soon, and yet not quickly enough, the focus shifts. The group is ushered through into the huge ballroom (the interior of the castle is, in fact, not in the least bit married to its exterior, but it sure as hell looks amazing), where the waiting film crews are set up. There’s a giant curtain set up in the middle of the room too, and Jaskier is placed behind it, along with the other celebrities, ready for the big reveal.

The cameras roll, and then the professionals enter. Jaskier listens to their chatter and footfall, trying not to vibrate with excitement. Everyone his side of the curtain has to keep quiet, has to wait patiently, and Jaskier suddenly isn’t very good at waiting. His heart dislikes it so much it migrates to his throat, which is silly because this isn’t even the part where they’re paired up, this is just the training for the group dance they’ll perform on the launch night, it’s not that big of a deal, or like it’s anything—

Ah.

The curtain falls, and there’s a lot of squeeing and excitement. Collectively, both sides are incredibly enthusiastic as they catch sight of each other and then meet, and Jaskier is completely caught up in it. He’s also maybe a little starstruck, because he’s watched the pros on TV and they’re all so incredibly talented and gorgeous. He doesn’t know where to look. There’s a good deal of hugging, a lot of touching shoulders and arms, and Jaskier finds the professional he’d absolutely kill to be partnered with bouncing up to him, telling him how much she loves his music. He beams, and it’s effortless to slip into talking about her experience on the show, her best dances and run-ins with the judges. He tries not to monopolise her, he really does, but after the initial clash they’re left to mingle while the crew readies the next segment. To Jaskier’s disappointment, the professionals really don’t know who they’ll be partnered with. He bites his tongue and doesn’t ask anything more about it. Since the phone call weeks ago, no one has said anything more about him potentially being paired with a male dancer. Perhaps they’ve forgotten, or changed their mind. It was only a slim possibility anyway.

Lost in thought, he only realises himself when he feels the weight of someone’s gaze on him. He looks up, wondering how in the hell he managed to zone out in the middle of all _this_ , and a jolt tears through him as he finds perhaps the most formidable dancer on the show regarding him. There’s nothing readable in his expression, and Jaskier looks away, not quite sure he’s capable of dealing with whatever it is he’s feeling. He needs to lie down. Another male dancer throws an arm around him and pulls him into conversation, and there’s only so much Jaskier can take.

He steals a glance back towards the first dancer, and finds that the man has turned to the unfairly stunning professional dancer at his side. She glances towards him, spearing him with a smirk and look that says she will eat him alive.

He really needs to go lie down.

-

There’s no hope of escape. The production clockwork keeps ticking, and the cameras capture the footage they need as the introductions, which take place in a manner strongly reminiscent of speed dating (not that he's ever participated), pass by in a blur. Jaskier has never been surrounded by so many beautiful people in his life, and he’s having too much fun to do anything other than grin and giggle his way through the first hour of dancing lessons.

After lunch the work becomes a little harder. Rhythm comes easy to him, and he can remember the basic steps, but here and there he has to concentrate. There are moving obstacles to avoid – ones which move and are prone to forgetting their steps and being where he doesn’t expect them to be. Still, it’s good fun, and by dinnertime the whole thing is coming together nicely.

After dinner – which is served in an obnoxiously ornate dining hall – the general consensus is to take things easy. One or two celebrities walk through some steps, helped by the professionals, but mostly the whole place takes on a warm, pleasant buzz as everyone relaxes and chatters, most people drifting back into the ballroom. Jaskier settles in a deeply-cushioned bay window, checking the tuning of his banjo before picking out a light tune. It doesn’t take long for people to gather, for the tempo to pick up, and soon nearly everyone is dancing and clapping along, mostly in time. There’s something unendingly rewarding about the delight and laughter his playing brings, people dancing and enjoying themselves, whooping along as they spin and improvise whatever they feel like. He goes to bed that night with a smile still on his face, his heart full.

The next morning, he definitely feels like he was dancing the day before. His muscles ache, although not so much that a nice hot shower can’t work its magic. Breakfast is a bright affair, with an impressive amount of calories on offer and continued good company. There’s a slightly different note to the rest of the day, though, yesterday’s excitement ebbing. It’s getting serious now. In a week’s time, they all have to perform this dance in front of an audience and the cameras. They need to remember their steps, not fuck it up… Outside of breaks, everyone is concentrating, doing their best. It’s impressive, really. Fifteen non-dancers have, well ahead of lunchtime and in less than a day, completed a successful run-through of the dance. It’s fine-tuned as they go through it again and again, and by the end of it Jaskier’s feet and body are profoundly sore (thank fuck he doesn’t have to wear heels), but they all share a sense of accomplishment. They say their goodbyes and go their separate ways, probably all going over the steps in their head if Jaskier’s own experience is anything to go by.

It’s only once he’s home again, melting into a hot bath, that he realises he forgot to worry about which professional he might be partnered with. He spends a little while imagining how he’ll feel at the launch show when it’s revealed, running through the rosta of pros, and comes to the conclusion that it’s impossible to be disappointed. They’re all good. They’re all _amazing_.

So he gives up wondering or worrying. Once he pulls himself from the bath he settles down on the sofa in his fluffiest dressing gown, and makes a rough recording of the tune he improvised back at the castle for everyone to dance to.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The launch!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I wanted to include this part in the first chapter, but it felt a bit better to split it... And then the setup for the rest of the fic didn't feel complete without it so I finished it yesterday... Enjoy! (I hope...)

Even before they step in front of the cameras the atmosphere is electric. The crowd gathered around the red carpet-cum-dancefloor outside the studio is already clapping and cheering the show’s presenters, judges and professionals, music blasting to get the party started. Jaskier, along with the other celebrities, half bounces, half dances on the spot, channelling his nervous energy into moving rather than thinking, a grin on his face as the partition in front of them slowly lifts. Oh fuck, he loves this. The noise of the crowd is incredible, and the late afternoon is lit up by powerful lights and no shortage of camera flashes as the press get everything they can. As planned, he takes the hand of the rather lovely reality TV star to his left, and after three other ad hoc pairs have gone before them, they dance their way down the steps together into the waiting crowd.

Jaskier loves it. He’s no stranger to the press, or huge crowds, or anything like that, but the _energy_ of this is so much more intense. Everyone around him is excited, and is living for it, and he can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be. He chats here and there, he poses, shares a few moments beside another contestant grinning and waving at the cameras, and just generally has no concept of time anymore. His outfit is new, an aquamarine shirt studded with stones coupled with neat black pants, comfortable to wear in the mild late summer air, and his hair has been left to do its usual thing. As the professionals are going to do a dance together and are all dressed similarly for that, there’s absolutely no hint as to who might be paired with who based on outfits. It doesn’t stop Jaskier from, in the back of his mind, trying to guess though

He hasn’t settled on his best guess (although he hopes he’ll get Nadia, please let it be Nadia, she has such impeccable taste in music) before he and the rest of the contestants are cued to go back to the stage they started on. They’ve walked through this – the professionals will dance quite literally into the studio, and the celebrities are to follow and then be ushered through the labyrinth of corridors until they reach the far end of the studio. Jaskier claps along, watching the dancers in front of him, wishing he was in the first group of celebrities that will be paired up. He’s going to be one of the last. It’s going to be a long wait after his initial introduction. Still, the sofas backstage are comfortable. He won’t have to wait forever…

Oh god, it feels like forever. Even when he lines up at the top of the stage left set of stairs for what should be the easy bit, waiting to walk down as his name is called out, the seconds take years. He shuffles forward as each of the men before him descend in turn, forgetting for a moment that there is a staircase there, remembering, and then panicking over the possibility of having forgotten how to descend a flight of stairs.

It turns out he hasn’t forgotten, which is a relief. The launch isn’t sent out live, but he’s still not sure how they’d redo and edit out him tripping up. He takes his spot, the final contestant is announced and joins them, and then that’s that. The judges offer an opinion on the lineup, some words of ‘advice’ (Jaskier was going to enjoy every second of it anyway, thank you very much, but he supposes that ‘listen to your partner’ is a good suggestion), and then it’s back off out of sight to wait for the next part.

By the time he’s settled down to wait once more (well, as settled as anyone could possibly be in this situation), time starts stretching out again. At least he’s not waiting alone. The first eight professional dancers are called out and line up out on the stage, and four celebrities’ intro videos are played before they’re paired up, there’s a collective sofa interview in which he doesn’t need to do anything other than stand there, and then four more couples are matched up. Jaskier listens to the crowd, to the tense lulls in between the presenters down on the dancefloor talking to a celeb and then announcing the name of their partner, to the bursts of music and cheers as it happens, to the next celebrity being called forward, to the talking… He hasn’t thought much about what he’ll say when it’s his turn. Talking comes naturally to him. He’s sure he’ll be okay.

“Who hasn’t been called yet?”

“Hm?”

He turns to the woman next to him, Catherine, realising that they’re holding rather sweaty hands, and have been for the last who knows how long. Her grip is far tighter than his, but he supposes that in her line of work she’s not had to face anything quite like this, and the fact she’s being paired last must be even less fun than having to wait until second last.

“The pros. I’m missing someone when I try to think who is left,” she elaborates. “We’ve got Antonio, Katja, Yennefer—”

“Yennefer was paired up second,” Jaskier remembers. “With Noah.”

“Oh yes! The charming young man!”

Jaskier likes to think that he counts as a charming young man to anyone over fifty too, but doesn’t smart too much. Noah really does look like he’s about fourteen, and is about as baby-faced as a twenty year old can be. “Nadia,” he supplies, because he definitely noticed she wasn’t in the first group, and is therefore still a potential. “Ashura, Geralt...”

“Fabrizio,” she chimes in.

He blanks for half a second, and then finds the missing name. “Corinne!”

“Oh yes, yes, how could I have forgotten? I suppose…”

She trails off, and he hears what she does – the presenter on the dancefloor listing the names of the remaining professional dancers. They could have found out if they’d waited another minute.

“Not long now,” he breathes.

“No.”

“Nervous?”

“I think I’ll go to the restroom again…”

She skitters off, and a minute later Jaskier decides it’s not a bad idea to go too. The crew point him towards the nearest restroom, and when he returns he and Catherine take up their positions again, waiting.

There’s not much waiting left to do. He, Catherine and Naeem are the last three, and Jaskier lines up behind Naeem, willing his palms to be just a little less sweaty, please and thank you. He doesn’t want to be _too_ gross meeting his partner, although he’s sure she’ll understand – and it’s definitely going to be a she. The numbers match perfectly for fifteen male-female dance pairs, and Jaskier glimpses out at the three pros still waiting to see that nothing has changed. He missed the two of the last couples to be announced, but two female pros stand to the left of the unmistakable silhouette of Geralt, who is easily the strongest dancer on the show, and whose white hair would mark him out anywhere. Jaskier’s attention shifts from Geralt to the two women, and he tries to breathe through a sudden rush of dizziness as he realises one of them is Nadia. The other is… Katja? Maybe? Yes, Katja. But that doesn’t matter, because her name is called and she’s paired with Naeem, and Jaskier is absolutely living the dream. He struggles not to skip forward at his cue to join the presenter, and completely fails to keep a grin from splitting his face as he realises who he’s been left with.

“Jaskier!” she welcomes. “Our final male celebrity to be paired. How was it for you waiting back there? Tense, I imagine?”

“Tense, yes, definitely,” he laughs. “But I’m loving it, and I think…” he gestures vaguely towards Nadia, “it’s been worth the wait.”

“Oh yes, indeed. Now, you’re a musician, you must be used to big shows like this? Lots of singing, lots of dancing?”

“Singing yes, dancing… not so much.”

“Oh but your chart topper is _the_ tune to dance to! It’s still my favourite thing to dance around the house to while I’m doing chores. You must have some awesome moves, surely?”

He laughs at the mental image. “Not that I know about,” he admits. “But it sounds like you could teach me a thing or two?”

She chuckles. “Maybe later, maybe later… Now, Jaskier…”

Her arm comes up to wrap around him, holding him steady (and also probably perfectly in frame for the cameras). He doesn’t really need it, but it’s nice, and he looks across the floor to Nadia, who is grinning at him.

“Are you ready for this? Your dance partner is—”

—he’d hoped it would be her, this is going to be good, it’s going to be so, so good, he can’t keep from vibrating with excitement, and he sees Nadia give a less-than-subtle wink—

“—the lovely Geralt!”

Wait, what?

What the fuck?

What the—?

His side is being squeezed. Oh yes. The presenter. Hugging him. Or, rather, holding him up. His expression has fallen, his mind flatlining for a moment as he tries to parse the name he’s just heard. He must have got it wrong, they must have said Nadia.

But as he looks over, it’s Geralt who is moving, definitely reacting, coming over…

He gets a male partner. He gets…

The moment it sinks in, the connections in his brain switching back on, Jaskier’s first task is to hold himself up. “Oh my—!” and he’s impressed that he manages not to swear. He laughs. He laughs even though he’s breathless, dizzy with delight, and he’s sure he really, really must be in a dream. Geralt comes towards him wearing a careful smile, with his arms open, and Jaskier hugs him fiercely, unable to believe the powerhouse of a man he’s been partnered with. “Oh my god,” he breathes. “Oh my god, I can’t believe it!” he laughs, and then makes himself pull away.

His face hurts from grinning as he turns towards the presenter. Geralt’s arm settles around his shoulders, and Jaskier quickly loops his own around a very impressive waist, grounded by the heat radiating from the man at his side.

“So, Jaskier, is this what you expected?”

“No,” he realises he sounds almost hysterical, and tries to calm down a little. “I thought…” He turns and gestures towards Nadia, who grins and waves as if she’s enjoyed being in on a secret.

“Your face, I must say, was quite the picture there. Are you happy to be partnered with Geralt?”

Stupid question.

He huffs at it, squeezing Geralt (and maybe using him for support, because his brain is becoming dangerously starved of oxygen). “Overjoyed, absolutely overjoyed.”

“And Geralt, reckon you can teach Jaskier some moves?”

Geralt gives a soft huff of laughter. “I can certainly try.”

“Well if you need my expertise on any killer dance-chore moves—” there’s a mixture of laughter and groans from the audience, and Jaskier tries not to choke at the terrible joke, “—you know where to find me. I’m sure you’ll be amazing though! Jaskier and Geralt, everyone!”

The audience cheers and applauds as Geralt actually _takes Jaskier’s hand_ and leads him up the downstage stairs that lead to the interview area. At the top, though, Geralt lets go.

“See you after,” is all he says, and Jaskier is ushered towards the sofa by a stage hand before he can protest. As he takes his place beside Naeem, the rest of the celebrities organised around them with one gap, he realises that this means Catherine is being partnered with Nadia. That… that he did not expect. At all. Wow. Damn.

Catherine joins them a few minutes later, and then the presenter gets chatting. She turns to Naeem first, and Jaskier half listens, half drifts in a daze. He only really comes back when his name is spoken.

“So, Jaskier, I think it would be fair to say you weren’t expecting that. How do you feel now the wait is over?”

“I wasn’t,” he admits, and then gestures vaguely with his hand. “Well, I mean, I’d been asked if I would mind if I ended up with a male dance partner, but I didn’t think it would actually happen. I think I’m still in shock? Ask me again later.”

“Good shock, though? I mean, you look pretty happy.”

“Oh yeah, good shock. Who wouldn’t want Geralt? If he wants me is another matter entirely, but I’m going to do my best not to let him down.”

“I’m sure you’re going to be wonderful, my love,” she reassures him. “Now, Catherine…”

The focus shifts, and then the whole thing is over. He’d almost completely forgotten how the show is going to end: with the group dance they learnt back at the castle. The rehearsal went well, but so much has happened in the last few hours that Jaskier feels like a century has passed. It’ll be his first time dancing in front of a crowd, and cameras. Millions will watch when it airs. He’s not sure he remembers his own name at this point.

They take their places, scattered between the professionals. Some couples get to do part of this dance with their actual partner for the show. The mood feels a little different, no doubt because of that, and the fact that the waiting is over. The excitement has lost the tang of anticipation, and Jaskier looks to where Geralt is positioned beside a celebrity, but Geralt doesn’t look towards him. He’s as stoic as ever, his trademark seriousness firmly in place as the music starts.

Jaskier doesn’t forget his steps, although not through any conscious effort of remembering that he can recollect once the dance is done. The group huddles together in the centre of the dancefloor, holding the finishing pose for a moment and grinning, catching their breath. He lets go of his temporary dance partner, accepting a hug from her and one or two others before they drift off towards their competition partners. The filming takes a short break, and Jaskier makes his way towards Geralt.

“Hey!” he smiles. Or, he hopes he smiles. His face feels weird, the expression probably a little uneven. A little shard of reality pierces him, and as he looks at the beautifully sculpted specimen that is Geralt, Jaskier tries to remember how to act natural in the face of downright perfection. And he’s expected to dance with said perfection, to learn from him and train with him. Is it too late to back out?

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, and it does _things_ to Jaskier’s insides that he might be able to understand if his brain was functioning above 5%, which it’s not. He needs at least 10% to pass as normal. It’s going to be a difficult rest of the evening. He almost misses Geralt’s next words: “Shall we?”

The dancer gestures towards where most couples have started to gather. The audience is draining out, and one or two crew members drift between the couples, giving directions, fixing makeup. The cameras are relocating too, setting up with a new focus. What follows next will pretty much be a post-matchup interview, in the format of an informal after-show chat. Each couple has to take their turn, and Jaskier lets himself be guided by Geralt.

The first person they talk to, quite simply because she slides up to them with a killer smirk, is Yennefer. Her partner for the show looks overjoyed, trailing happily behind her, and seems oblivious to what’s going on as Yennefer gives Jaskier a calculating once-over.

“Another winner for you, Geralt,” she smiles, her eyes gleaming. “Congratulations.”

Jaskier narrows his eyes. Geralt has never won. In fact, in the four years he’s been on the show, he’s never made it past the fifth week. Clearly Yennefer doesn’t think Jaskier is worthy of her professional partner, and Jaskier immediately decides he’s going to prove her wrong.

“And to you,” is all Geralt says, and then Yennefer is drifting away again, looking unduly pleased with herself. Jaskier is glad he’s not partnered with her. She is known for being tough in training, the kind of woman Jaskier imagines might step on you, heels and all, and he very hastily has to stop thinking about it because there’s only so much confusion his body can take. He files that sudden thought (vision? fantasy?) away to revisit later.

Brain function now hovering perhaps around 2%, Jaskier almost lets Geralt steer them closer to a camera. He stiffens at the last moment. “Wait, wait, I need a moment,” he pleads.

“There’s no need to be nervous.”

“I’m not nervous, I’m just— Oh! Catherine! Nadia! Oh my god I can’t believe it?! You knew, didn’t you? You knew,” he accuses Nadia.

She grins. “Only when you and Catherine were the only two left.”

“They asked me too,” Catherine admits to him, “but like you said, I thought it had been forgotten. If you ever tire of this gorgeous man, though, tell me! We can always swap – I really won’t mind!”

Geralt, who has come up close behind Jaskier, seems to tense at those words. Or not. Maybe Jaskier imagined it. All the same, as Nadia gives a good-natured laugh at the joke he takes half a step so he can angle his body towards Geralt. “Thank you, and not that I wouldn’t be overjoyed to dance with you, Nadia, but I don’t want anyone else.”

“Diplomatic,” Geralt snorts.

“What?!” Jaskier challenges, turning. “I’m being honest. We’re going to be great!”

There’s a large, powerful hand at the small of his back, urging him to move in the direction Geralt chooses. “Tell that to the cameras.”

“Fine.”

And he does. There’s not much they need from them, just a few minutes of content which are surprisingly easy to provide. Geralt smiles in a measured way, and Jaskier is back to grinning so much his face hurts. He likes to think that Geralt is excited about this too, in his own stoic way; he’s definitely calmer than Jaskier, more experienced, better composed. Maybe he’s not sure about Jaskier yet, not convinced that he’ll be any good. Well, Jaskier is going to prove any doubts he has wrong. He’s going to be brilliant – _they’re_ going to be brilliant.

He can’t wait to begin training.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hands up who else can't wait for them to start training! Jaskier is going to be trying to learn the quickstep, a nice, fast ballroom dance ;)
> 
> I have two essays to write for a somewhat pressing deadline, but I can't wait to write the next bit so I should be back soon ^^ As always, authors thrive on comments, so please don't be shy if you enjoyed this <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been one of those weeks, so there has been no chance for me to check over for errors (literally finished this 10 mins ago). If you find any mistakes you're welcome to keep them!

Geralt looks unfairly amazing. No one has any right to look that good at half past eight in the morning wearing just jeans and a hoodie. Luckily he’s too busy making his way into the building to realise Jaskier is there already and trying to pick his jaw up off the floor (and wow, he really was early today, probably because he couldn’t sleep, and when he did pass out having exhausted himself with excitement he woke up a mere two hours later and couldn’t get back to sleep, so spent the next hour picking an outfit that really doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, and seriously doesn’t compare to what Geralt’s wearing). With his hair swept back into a loose bun, Geralt looks criminally gorgeous, and Jaskier tries to remember how to pass as a functioning human being on so little sleep, heightened excitement, and a dose of nervousness because wow. This is happening? Yeah, this is happening.

“Morning!”

He hides the wince at the volume of his own voice, drifting towards Geralt who, to his credit, looks up at Jaskier with merely a raised eyebrow. “You’re early.”

Jaskier grins at him, and takes the absence of a scowl to mean that Geralt is impressed. “No reason not to be.”

Geralt turns towards the reception desk, finishing signing into the building, but not before Jaskier catches what looks like the faint twitch of an approving smile. “Signed in?” he asks.

“Yep!”

With a nod to the receptionist, Geralt turns to walk into the building, and Jaskier falls into (slightly animated) step at his side.

“I just thought I’d sit and watch the sunrise, you know?” Jaskier offers. He gesticulates as he explains. “The light on the glass is pretty. I’d usually rather be somewhere more picturesque, like the seaside or somewhere, but there’s something about it, you know? Something about sunrise over a city, and the way it falls against the glass, it’s like mirrors reflecting fractured dawn.”

Geralt gives him a Look (yes, with a capital ‘l’, it’s definitely a Look, and a bit too indecipherable for first thing in the morning) without breaking his stride or missing a beat. “How much sleep have you had?”

“Uh…”

It feels like he’s being judged.

“You need more than that.”

“Yes, sir,” he chuckles, and then sighs to himself when Geralt’s lips tighten. A different approach, then. “I was so excited I couldn’t really sleep. Looking forward to this, to you— to working with you. I’ve not done anything like this before. I won’t get to again. I know you’re all…” he fills in with some gestures at the whole rather wonderful, unfairly sexy package that is Geralt, “but for me this is a once in a lifetime thing. I want to make the most of it.”

That, at least, seems to be the right thing to say. Geralt nods. “Good.”

“I also think I need coffee,” he adds, eyeing the takeaway cup one of the studio crew has in their hand as they head in the opposite direction.

They’ve now come to a standstill outside the dressing room, and Geralt’s arched brow clearly conveys his scepticism at the idea of coffee being a good idea.

Jaskier ignores the look. “Can I get you one?”

After a moment, Geralt concedes. “Milk and two sugars.”

“Right you are!” Jaskier nods. “Okay, well, I’ll see you in a few minutes then!”

The cafeteria is somewhere back the way they came, and down a corridor to the left. Or the right. There’s a sign. He’ll find it. Jaskier parts company with Geralt, and goes in search of something to help him keep it a little more together.

Ten minutes later, he’s slipping into the dressing room, a coffee in each hand. His own is only a few sips lighter, still too hot to drink without running the risk of burning his throat. “Here you go!” he grins, setting Geralt’s coffee down in front of him.

There’s a grunt in response, and Jaskier doesn’t question it. He takes his own rather comfy seat, swiveling in it, regarding Geralt in the mirror. He looks so disarmingly… No, he doesn’t look ordinary, even if his clothes are. He exceptional: exceptionally handsome, exceptionally talented, exceptionally built. Jaskier thinks for a moment about Achilles, powerful, beautiful, and invulnerable, only Geralt has been bathed in the warm, golden light of dawn, rather than the River Styx. He’s beautiful. Unreachable.

Hiding himself behind his coffee, Jaskier looks away. Shit, he really needed more sleep. The coffee still burns, but the sooner he can get a hold of himself, the better. The wardrobe department comes for him not a moment too soon, saving him from opening his mouth again, and as he’s led through and dressed in the outfit he wore for the launch show – which has been cleaned and pressed already – he feels himself settle into his role. By the time he’s settled in the salon, waiting for the next stage to begin, he can look up at Geralt as he enters the room and hold it together, rather than wax poetic in his mind.

Well, maybe he waxes a little poetic, because the vision that is Geralt Rivia in an open-to-the-sternum short-sleeved shirt, vertical panels alternating between solid black and transparent, is enough to give anyone a semi-religious experience.

“You look really good,” Jaskier grins, and Geralt casts him a glance but otherwise says nothing as he sits down.

“Have you got some moves planned for this?” he wonders, sitting up a little straighter as one of the hairdressers greets him and fluffs his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. “Or do we just make it up as we go along?”

“There’s a plan,” Geralt says. “We will use some of the steps from the group dance.”

“Ooh!” Jaskier looks over at him as an oversized hairdressers cape is draped around him, protecting his costume from the work hair and makeup will be doing. “Which one?”

“You’ll see,” is all Geralt will give away, receiving similar treatment.

Between chattering with the salon crew, and sometimes having to stop when they’re applying makeup, Jaskier thinks back over the dance. “I don’t have to lift you, do I?” he half laughs. “Because I’d need a few more gym sessions before I can do that.”

“You think you could?” The tone of his voice sounds amused, and at Jaskier’s expense.

“Don’t doubt me!” Jaskier defends. “I could do it. I could totally do it.”

Geralt hums softly to himself, and the conversation between them lulls as the hair stylist finishes working on Jaskier. His hair has been swept back and set in place, looser on top whereas at the sides his hair is slicked against his head. It mimics the hairstyle he had for the launch, but even so, Jaskier isn’t used to seeing himself like this, and inspects himself in the mirror.

“Happy?” the hairdresser asks him.

“Yeah,” Jaskier reassures the man. “It’s just different, you know?”

“I do,” he smiles back, and reaches out to smooth down an invisible hair. “There, all set. You look gorgeous.”

Jaskier beams at that, freed from the gown and able to tuck his feet up as he swivels round, coffee back in hand. “Thank you.”

To his side, Geralt is still having his hair and makeup done. His eyes are closed as the makeup brush sweeps over his eyelids, and gentle fingers are separating out the loose waves that have been set into his hair. Jaskier wonders if it does that naturally when it gets wet, because the effect is… rather nice.

He passes the time by chatting with the crew. The attempts he makes with Geralt are met by low grunts, which lead him to deduce that Geralt isn’t one for conversation while in the salon chair. His coffee cup empty, Jaskier drifts back towards the cafeteria with the hairdresser, whose name he should remember because Calum starts with ‘c’ and so does coffee, and that’s what he is contemplating getting more of. In the end he decides against it. One was enough, and he feels calmer as he heads back to find that Geralt is done. His hair is in a half up, half down style, pulled back and tied with a leather thong, and although they’re almost the same height, Geralt seems so much bigger than Jaskier, broad-chested, broad-shouldered and… yeah, okay Jaskier already knew his hips were impressive, but the cut of his dance trousers is really helping (or maybe not helping) matters.

“Let’s go,” Geralt says, and Jaskier nods his agreement, taking a moment to find his tongue.

“Yep!”

They make their way along the corridor, Jaskier following, and he sighs internally, really wishing he’d slept more. He’s tired. He’s looking at Geralt’s ass and missing several seconds of the last minute. He can do this, he reminds himself. He can keep it together.

There’s a small set waiting for them. While the crew finish getting things in place, Geralt guides Jaskier to the side. “Remember the move you did with Nadia?”

“Oh, yeah! This one?” Jaskier asks, taking two steps back so he can replicate the footwork.

“Yes,” Geralt nods, and then reaches for Jaskier’s hips. He blames the lurch in heart rate on the caffeine, and schools himself into paying attention. “Now move your hips more with each step, like this.”

He guides him, and Jaskier tries to loosen enough to make it work.

“Again.”

He bites his lip as he concentrates, trying to feel what Geralt is showing him to do rather than react to any pressure or force. He seems to do well enough, because Geralt withdraws his touch.

“Once more.”

He does it.

Geralt nods, and then takes Jaskier’s arms. “Good. Now, arms like this, hands…” he adjusts Jaskier’s hands too, “like that. Keep everything fluid, but don’t let your arms drop. Yes, like that. Chin up. Smile.”

Jaskier laughs, realising how serious he’d been in those few moments, something close to spellbound by the mesmerising way Geralt had touched and guided him. Geralt gives a smile too, but it’s a small, shallow thing, and it makes Jaskier falter. “Aren’t you enjoying this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jaskier’s arms fall. “Not a morning person?”

“It’s not…”

He falls silent, and Jaskier knows when to be still. He can see that Geralt is thinking, a man who isn’t used to using words trying to find the right ones to express something he’s probably not used to expressing. He seems painfully aware in that moment of how short he falls when it comes to this, to being outgoing and connecting easily with others.

“I love dancing.”

Jaskier lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. “And you want to share it with others,” he says softly. There is so much Geralt hasn’t said, but what he’s given is enough. Jaskier can work with it. “We can do this.”

He reforms his starting pose, looking to Geralt.

“So, I start like this. And you?”

“We’ll start like this. “Geralt adopts a similar pose a few paces away, but when he moves there’s absolutely no comparison. His steps are fluid and beautiful, his arms more exaggerated and yet seeming so natural. “Okay, now can you shimmy?”

If anyone else had asked, Jaskier would have scoffed. He hesitates, though, suddenly unsure of himself. Can he? He doesn’t know. He’s going to have to try, and show Geralt how inept he is. And, he realises with a cold, sinking feeling in his stomach, he’s going to be vulnerable in front of this man every day for weeks, exposing all his shortcomings. Flushing with embarrassment at the thought, he tenses up. “Um…”

“Less tension,” Geralt says, and his tone is firm, but not unkind. He’s a professional, after all.

Professional, Jaskier reminds himself, taking a slow breath and then releasing it, trying to remember how to shake his chest and shoulders.

“Good.”

Good is good. Jaskier will take it.

“We’re going to do that together. Right foot forward more. I’ll lean in first, you lean back, then you lean towards me. Hold a little more tension in your arm, that’s it. Lean further forward.”

They practice, Jaskier concentrating on copying Geralt more closely. After one more try, Geralt seems satisfied. Jaskier feels a little breathless.

“Then we’ll straighten up and relax. I’ll be your prop, so throw your left arm around my shoulder, turn towards the camera, and pull a pose.”

“Any pose?”

“Anything you feel like.”

Jaskier chews his lip for a moment, thinking, and then loosely runs through the short sequence in his mind. “Okay, I think I’ve got something.”

They run through it again, this time adding in a moment to relax while grinning at each other (and wow, dancing makes Geralt smile beautifully), before Jaskier loops his arm around Geralt’s neck and punches the air. “Hold it a moment,” Geralt says, and then directs Jaskier a little more, nudging the position of his feet. “It’ll give your body a better line,” he explains, “and I’ll…”

He shows him. One hand settles at Jaskier’s back, and while he punches the air the other settles against his stomach.

“Like that. Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“You’ll need to hold your attention on the camera for a few seconds, and then we’re done.”

Jaskier nods, and they run through it again. It seems simple enough, minus the distracting warmth that’s imprinted on Jaskier’s skin when they pull apart, the crew calling him over. The material they need for this VT will be collected over the next few weeks, but is going to start with the short introduction filmed today. His gorgeous aquamarine shirt smoothed over for non-existent fluff, Jaskier is placed on the brightly lit golden set, enough space beside him for Geralt to join him in a minute. He clasps his hands around his knee, pulling it up towards his body a little, and no one tells him not to, so he relaxes into it, speaking for the camera.

“I’m Jaskier, a musician, and I’m best known for the hit ‘Penny for your Thoughts’.” That’s the easy part. He tries not to hesitate too much as he moves onto the next bit. “When I found out I was paired with Geralt, I couldn’t believe it. It was like a dream I didn’t dare to have come true.”

And, on cue, Geralt walks on set, taking a seat beside Jaskier, who lets go of his knee and shuffles up to make space, because he hadn’t very accurately estimated how much space Geralt would need. He laughs. “I think we’re going to need a bigger bench.”

“Are you going to fall off?” Geralt smirks, wrapping an arm around Jaskier.

“I think I’m okay!”

They don’t need to look at the camera. This is the bit where Geralt tells him what the hell they’ll be doing for the first live show, and Jaskier waits for the reveal.

“So, for our first week,” Geralt says, his expression closer to neutral again, “we are going to be dancing the quick step—”

“Oh!”

“—to ‘Lust for Life’, by Iggy Pop.”

“Oh my god!” Jaskier laughs. “That’s awesome!”

“Ready?”

He can’t help grinning. “Bring it on.”

The crew have what they need, which is just as well because Jaskier isn’t overly interested in acting as if he’s hearing the announcement again. Geralt records a short few words on his own, telling the camera how he’s sure Jaskier has great rhythm, and he’s looking forward to teaching him, and they’re moved to a separate part of the studio, where another set is waiting for them.

“Let’s practice,” Geralt says, guiding Jaskier to the middle of the space they’ve been given. The cameras train on them, and they’re told to move half a metre closer for the shot. Jaskier messes up the first take by suddenly forgetting his left from right, thankfully calling out the moment he makes the mistake. Geralt huffs softly, but doesn’t seem to mind too much. “This one,” he points out, tapping Jaskier’s right foot lightly with his own toes.

“My other left foot. Yep. Got you.”

They take their paces back, ready to start again, and this time Jaskier doesn’t mess up. He smiles through the steps, hoping it’s not obvious he’s having to think about what he’s doing, and then grins in relief when they’re done. He loops an arm around Geralt and excitedly punches the air, that warm, steady hand settling against his stomach again.

They do it five more times. By the end, Jaskier is almost giddy. He’s dismissed, and drifts towards the salon, where he tells Calum no thank you to having the hairdo taken down. Makeup and costume off, his own comfortable clothes and shoes on, Jaskier wonders what to fill the rest of his day with. It’s tomorrow they get to go to the dance studio for the first time, which is probably for the best given how sleep deprived he is, but Jaskier is still impatient for it.

“Should I watch some more videos of the quick step?” he asks Geralt, watching the dancer sweep his hair back into a very fetching messy bun. Tragically, the waves have been brushed out.

Geralt raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t ask the question. “As long as you get enough sleep,” he says.

“I will!” Jaskier hopes. He fishes out his phone. “And you want my number, right? Give me yours and I’ll missed call you.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, almost imperceptible. “I don’t always answer.”

“I know, it’s just for emergencies, if I know I’m going to be late, stuff like that.”

Geralt nods, his own phone in hand. He rattles off his number, and Jaskier saves and then calls it. The phone in Geralt’s hand lights up, but neither rings nor vibrates.

“Right, I’ll see you tomorrow morning then?” Jaskier grins once Geralt has saved his number in return.

There’s another nod.

“Looking forward to it!”

Geralt gives a faint smile, seeming harder to reach now that he’s out of his dance clothes. “See you then.”

The smile has gone even before he turns away, but Jaskier shrugs it off, busying himself with his phone. He idly tugs at his sock where it’s folded over, and glances around the dressing room as he straightens it. Geralt has left his empty coffee cup. He decides to bin it for him, and then discovers that it’s far from empty. It’s almost full. Staring down at it, Jaskier tries to figure out what to make of it. Maybe he just forgot? Maybe he didn’t want it? Jaskier knows he got the order right, because he takes milk and two sugars too.

Ah well. It’s one of those days. One of those very bright days. Jaskier winces in the sun as he leaves the building, and, in spite of all the excitement and the glaring sunlight slowly cooking him, manages to fall asleep in the taxi home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also cannot belieeeeeeve this????? Anyone who is watching Strictly... oh my god okay I've had all the weeks, dances and music planned out for this fic for a while now and I can't believe they're doing one of my combos this week!!!!!
> 
> I took a screenshot which is spoilery for this fic but I don't think anyone will mind much:  
> 
> 
> Edit: Geralt's top is based on [this one](https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p06lh7rh/p06lh88v).

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't be shy to comment if you enjoyed this! (And if you find errors you can keep them.)
> 
> I'll be back soon I hope with the bit where things happen ;)


End file.
